Bright Lights
by Owl-head
Summary: A petty argument sets in motion an unlikely chain of events, taking from Tony everything he knows. To save his world, he must face the enemy even Iron Man can't defeat: himself. With, of course, a little help from the Avengers. Post-Avengers, Pre-IM3.
1. Thin Ice

To begin, I must say, thank you all so much for the great comments and for following- it means a lot to me!

Also, I'm obligated to say that I don't own any of these fabulous characters...unfortunately. That's all Marvel.

Secondly, keep in mind this is a first draft, so many issues will be worked out later. Also, I will be posting chapters periodically, so don't freak if I go awhile without putting one up...I didn't forget about ol' Tony (:

Thirdly (and, lastly), I get inspiration for chapters of several of my stories from songs. _So_, that said, I thought you'd enjoy listening to the very same songs that inspired me; before each chapter, you'll find what I call a "Chapter Playlist," whose purpose is just that.

I was hit with the idea for chapter one while listening to Gwen Paltrow's version of _Turning Tables _and Sara Bareille's _King of Anything_.

Oh, I almost forget..._pants_ are a common theme in this story. Thought you should know. Phew. That's it. So...Enjoy!

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CHAPTER I

THIN ICE

"Hey, what's for breakfast?" Tony Stark slid into one of the breakfast room's engraved wooden dining chairs, clad in nothing but a pair of plaid boxers and a disheveled red button-down. The miniaturized arc reactor pulsated its usual dark blue behind the stained, crumpled shirt. His ensemble contrasted drastically with the room's classic elongated table, imported rug, and antique wall hangings. Ironically, he was right at home here; usually, he even propped his feet up. It was quite the oddity; but not uncommon at the Stark-Potts household.

From the opposite end of the table, Pepper Potts glanced around the front page of the morning paper. "I thought we agreed," she said tersely, "that you'd start making your own eggs in the future."

"Good," Tony replied. He leaned back in his chair, letting it tip on its back legs. "It's not the future yet, so we have some time."

Pepper folded the paper quickly and slammed it down on the table, a little too vehemently. "Tony, it's not that hard. You put eggs in a _pan_ and turn on the stove."

Her cold gaze locked on him from across the table. What had he done _now_? Tony stared back uncomfortably. "Whoa, who invited Banner to the party?" He said. "'Cause I would've gone to Boy Band Headquarters for eggs if I wanted some Hulk action." There was definitely some tension in the air. But, what the heck could _possibly_ have happened overnight? Whatever it was had left her all tense and snippy; and, he could probably count on one hand the times she'd turned into a fire-breathing dragon. Hopefully, it didn't escalate to the fire-breathing-dragon phase.

"Wanna know why I'm upset?" Pepper said icily. She dug through the pile of mail in front of her and brought out an envelope. "It's for you." She slid the mysterious note across the table and Tony took it in his fingers rather reluctantly.

"Jarvis usually gets me my mail," he said slowly, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. She _never_ got the mail. Jarvis would normally fetch the mail and electronically distribute it to each of them separately (But, of course, Tony had his bills and tax forms preprogrammed to go to Pepper). The notes would flash across the screen if he was watching TV, or Jarvis would read them aloud if Tony was preoccupied with something else altogether. Somehow, this time, Pepper had gone out of her way to obtain the hard copies; and, she obviously didn't like what she saw.

"Speeding ticket," Pepper said. "Didn't think I'd hear about it?"

"Not this one," Tony muttered. Curiously, he turned the envelope over in his hands, sliding his thumb to rip open the flap. But, there was no flap.

It'd already been ripped open.

"You opened my mail."

Before Tony could take out and read the document, Pepper added, "What's this, number four?"

"Pepper," Tony said calmly, letting out a deep breath. So, that's what it was about. A stupid ticket. "Relax. So I was cruisin' down Main Street yesterday. Yeah, whatever, I'm sorry I did it. Happy? It's just a ticket. "

"But _four_ in one month?"

"Five, actually."

Pepper answered with a stern glare.

"What can I say, they've got some tricky guys down on Main. Well, _guy_. Actually, it's the same guy every time, John. You'd think we would've made a truce by now. It's like he sits there, kicks back, and waits for me on that little side street and just pops out when I happen to drive by."

"Ever try _going the speed limit?_"

There had to be something more. "Well _excuse me _for having a little fun."

Pepper's gaze narrowed. "There are _other ways_ to have fun, Ton—"

"The Invincible Pepper Potts with composure of _steel_ has a problem with a little ticket?" Tony said sarcastically. That actually sounded good, he thought, rather satisfied with himself. "Hey, that could be your superhero alter ego! The Invincible Pepper Potts: Iron Man's Sidekick. That sounds pretty catchy."

She didn't flinch. Her stoic glare confirmed that she was not _at all_ amused.

"O-kaay, maybe you're too uptight to be a sidekick," Tony added.

Pepper didn't move.

Dropping all pretenses, Tony said flatly, "Look, whatever I did—"

"Did you read it, Tony?" Pepper responded gravely. She finally stood up, taking a few steps closer to Tony's side of the table. But that didn't shorten the distance between them, really. Tony felt a million miles away from her now. What_ever_ she was upset about. It wasn't that big of a deal. Was it? His gaze fell upon the envelope in his hands. Pepper had read it. He sighed. He'd better get it over with.

Tony took hold of the folded document inside, drawing it out in what seemed like slow motion. Every couple seconds, he looked up to check Pepper's unwavering stare for a sign. Any sign. But, her furrowed brow and pursed lips gave no indication, no hint. Not until he unfurled the parchment and scanned the paragraphs.

"Court!"Tony burst. He wasn't sure if the exclamation was on account of Pepper's overreaction, or his own outrage with the situation. Either way, he was _not_ happy. "I'm not going to court, _Pepper_, I am _not_ going to court! That's why you overreacted?" _Crap_, he was going to court. Why the heck had this happened? Sure, he had been going twenty—or forty—over the speed limit. A couple of times. But did that really require a court hearing?

"No, no, you know what that means?" Pepper interjected defensively. Her voice raised an octave. Uh, oh. Fire-breathing dragon. "That means _you_ will probably lose your license and that would mean _I _would be your chauffer, and I am _not_—"

"No," Tony corrected, "it'd be that guy, that kid that works here, what's his name—?"

"Happy?"

"Yeah, _he'd_ be my chauffer. We both know that you don't drive…"

Pepper drew a deep breath. "Tony, that's not the _point_. The point is that _you_ are probably going to get community service—"

"I'm _Iron Man_. Don't you think flying around and saving the world from, I don't know, _mass destruction_ is enough community service?" Tony propped his head up with both hands, resting his elbows on the table.

"_Community service_, Tony, means community service," Pepper said firmly. "That's generally what _normal people_ have to do when they don't follow the rules. You think everything revolves around _you_, that you can just break the law and you're just…exempt! Just because you're Iron Man, you're not a celebrity!"

"Well, actually I kind of _am_. They make socks with my face on them now."

"That's _Iron Man_'s face, Tony. _Not_ yours. What you don't realize is that _Iron Man_ and _Tony Stark_ are two different people. And, Tony Stark just happens to be the CEO of a big company, which—"

Tony stood up. "Is that all you care about, _the company_, Pepper?"

"Well, _somebody's_ got to! While you're out basking in the glory of Iron Man, I'm here trying to do your job. Tony, I stepped down from CEO because we agreed that you'd start taking more responsibility for Stark Industries, because, look at that, your name is Stark. _Not_ Iron Man. Everything's going back to the way it was—"

"This isn't about the court case, is it?" Tony interrupted.

"No," Pepper said flatly. "It's about your big ego. I can't do this anymore, Tony. It's just- I can't. I don't know _why_ I even…I was just so _stupid _to think that…"

This time, Tony raised his voice, impatient and annoyed. "To think what?"

"That this…forget it."

"No, enlighten me."

"That I could ever _think _about having a relationship with my boss, okay?" Pepper's answer was both harsh and tentative. "I should've just-You're just _so_—"

Tony turned, making his way towards the stairs. "You're right. That _was_ stupid," he yelled.

"Where are you going?" Pepper called back.

"To catch an exotic disease and get mauled by a bear, thanks for asking!"

"You've already got the disease—Inflated Ego Syndrome!"

Tony yelled back from above her, leaning over the railing, "And, _you_ turned into the angry bear- so, look at that, I don't even have to leave the house! But, guess what? I am anyway!"

There was a pause. The first pause in a long time. Then, fuming, Pepper yelled the first thing she could come up with:

"You're…not wearing any pants!"


	2. Nightie Night

For this chapter, I like **This Afternoon by Nickelback.** Thanks to everyone for reading!

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CHAPTER II

**NIGHTIE-NIGHT**

After (reluctantly) slipping on a fresh pair of jeans, Tony found himself speeding out in his ordering an Egg McMuffin and coffee at the nearest McDonald's. When he received the white bag from the takeout window, he whipped out the muffin and bit off a big piece.

"There isn't any bacon in this," Tony said to the girl at the window, chewing laboriously with a rather disgusted look upon his face.

The girl, looking about nineteen in a high ponytail and heavy makeup, shot him a quizzical glance. "Excuse me?"

"Bacon," Tony reiterated. "Pepper always puts bacon in when she cooks the egg. Gives it _texture._" He grimaced at the sandwich in his hand. "You guys just reheat these _atrocious _frozen blocks of yellow rubber and slap 'em on a muffin and call it egg. _Volia_, breakfast of champions."

"I'm sorry, sir," the girl replied slowly with a raised eyebrow. "This is _McDonald's_. What were you expecting?"

Tony cleared his throat, throwing the half-eaten muffin in an empty cup holder. His gaze fell. "I don't know." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, pressing down suddenly and violently on the accelerator. He swerved haphazardly into a parking spot at the back of the lot.

He knew what he was expecting. He knew perfectly well. He was expecting Pepper's omelet. Pepper's bacon omelet with a side of freshly-cut fruit and sausage. Pepper's breakfast. Pepper's laughter as they discussed whatever absurdity that had made the front page of the morning paper. Tony took a long swallow of the cheap coffee. He reached past the Egg McMuffin for his Blackberry.

_Ring. Ring._

"Tony, this isn't a good time. I'm working."

"Rhodey!" Tony replied. "Hey, so I was thinkin' we hit the jet with girls and some vodka and take a trip to paradise."

"Now?"

"No, next Hanukkah," Tony said sarcastically. "Of _course_ now. What, you have some pressing engagement at Humdrum Headquarters?"

"What part of 'I'm working' didn't you hear?"

"The 'working' part. We can do _tons_ more work than anything you and the droids are doing there. I said I was bringing the girls, didn't I?" Out of the corner of his eye, Tony caught a child rubbing the hood of his Acura. "Hey, kid, c'mon, what does this look like, a petting zoo?"

"No," Rhodey said firmly. "I can't, Tony. Is…everything okay?"

Tony swallowed. "Yeah, of course, never better. Hey, you're missing out! More girls for me. See you at the demo Friday." He lowered his phone to hang up.

"Hey, Tony," Rhodey said quickly. "Wait, you sure everything's okay? It's not Pepper, is it?"

"Goodbye, Rhodey."

"It's Pepper."

"_G'bye_, Rhodey."

"Hey, don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Tony hung up, tossing the Blackberry across the passenger seat. It was too late- he already had.

**The place was **anything but discrete, with white marble pillars and a wide circle driveway. Stone steps at the entry welcomed visitors with a singular red carpet. Elegant animal-shaped topiaries framed the doorway, and a midget in a suit stood by to escort cars to the parking garage. The only indication that the mansion _wasn't_ a high-end luxury hotel was a flashing, orange-and-pink neon sign—that, and groups of stumbling aristocrats outside. It was, Tony decided, about as urbane as a casino could get. And, he was most certainly an urbane kind of guy.

He'd been pretty bummed that Rhodey'd declined his invitation—drinks, girls...how could he say no? Rather reluctantly, Tony had decided on Plan B; it would've required an enormous amount of effort to prepare the jet for a single passenger. Besides, while he wouldn't admit it, it would've only confirmed his loneliness. Rhodey had a life, Pepper had a temper—a casino was the perfect place to look like you had friends, even when you didn't. So, Tony had headed to the most luxurious one he knew—outside Las Vegas, of course-, which happened to be right here in New York City.

Though it was only eleven in the morning, Tony found himself tossing his troubles and his keys to the midget; and, without another stray thought, he swaggered into the building with an eye on the roulette table.

He played for longer than he could keep track of, losing six hundred dollars between roulette and Texas Hold 'Em. But, it hadn't the usual comforting effect. Then again, he did normally _win _something. _Anything_. That was the part that got the adrenaline pumping. Tony fed a last half-hearted twenty into the slots. His efforts were in vain, for all he earned was a free spin, which was also fruitless. Rather defeated, he retreated to the bar six hundred and twenty dollars poorer.

Tony ordered two vodkas, methodically sliding down next to a Latina with long, dark hair. She looked slim in a tight blue, sequined mini dress. A little mingling was sure to lift his spirits. That was one thing he _knew_ he wouldn't fail at. He just had the _charm_. He rested his arm on the table, turning to the woman with a cool smirk playing on his lips.

Tony opened his mouth to let loose one of his signature pickup lines ("They should be patented," he had once told Rhodey of the sly one-liners). But, to his dismay, she was the first to speak:

"Wow, two vodkas. Do you always drink so voraciously?" Her voice was a sweet, rich alto. Intoxicating.

"Only when a pretty girl isn't around," He lied. He _had_ been planning on drinking the lot himself. "And, lucky for you, I think you're pretty." The bartender dropped two tall glasses on the table, one of which Tony slid towards his new acquaintance. "For you. Got a name?"

With a small smile, the woman faced forward, feigning disinterest. She rested her chin in a delicate hand. "I don't take handouts from strangers," she said, sipping from a glass of her own. "And, my name's none of your business."

"Well, Miss None-of-Your-Business," Tony replied, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm no stranger. You've obviously seen me on TV." He took a swig of his own drink.

She looked at her red polished fingernails. "Can't say that I have."

"Millionaire by day, high-flying hero by night? Ahem, saved the entire _global population_ from World War III? Any of _that_ ring a bell, princess?"

"Oh, yes," she retorted simply. "You are Tony Stark. You own that obnoxious skyscraper down on Sixty-Forth Street."

Tony took a long sip of his vodka. "You seem to know obnoxious pretty well. I can give you an up-close-and-personal tour."

"Do you always get 'personal' in old, crumpled-up shirts?"

He looked down upon the disheveled button-down he'd worn since his morning quarrel with Pepper. "Only on Mondays. Wednesdays, it's a tutu. So, you gonna tell me your name, Miss No Business?"

The woman threw her voluptuous hair over one shoulder, spinning in her stool to face Tony. Her fingers drew around the neglected vodka glass, pulling it closer. "Bree. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Stark." Nearly gracefully, she gestured to Tony's emptied glass. "More vodka?"

Tony spent another immeasurable amount of time at the bar, drinking and conversing with Bree. While he drained glasses of vodka and brandy, she inquired about "the curious piece of metal in his chest" (Her anemia, she explained, kept her from drinking too much alcohol). After four rounds, Tony relayed the entire tale of how he had come into captivity overseas and been forced to construct the device in a cave. He explained the mechanism and how it functioned to keep the shrapnel out of his heart. He even went on to describe the Iron Man suit and how Jarvis ran the minicomputer inside of it. They spoke about dozens of other things, many important, and many rather extraneous. The only thing Bree relayed about herself was that she held a minor position at Hammer Industries. Mostly, they talked about Tony. His life was, Bree had said, much more exciting than hers. She enjoyed hearing his fascinating tales of adventure and technology. Finally, at some time past dark—Ten? Midnight? Two?-, a very tipsy Tony suggested they return to Stark Tower.

Tony exited with his arm along Bree's lower back. It had grown pitch black outside. The midget summoned Tony's Acura, which the pair climbed in together. Tony wedged into the driver's seat only to be intercepted.

"Tony, you've had a little too much to drink," Bree said, slipping past him. "Why don't you let me drive?"

"No, I'm_fine!_" Tony slurred. Nonetheless, he allowed Bree to take the wheel and collapsed into the passenger seat.

They were only on the road for several minutes, however, when she stopped. In one swift motion, she put the car in park, opened the door, and slid out. Curiously, Tony sat up in his seat to glance out the window. While they were downtown in NYC, there weren't many buildings to be seen. The street was lined with five small ramshackle flats (or, were they shops?) on either side. Against their walls were several large garbage bins brimming with stained cardboard and food waste. The only illumination, aside from the Acura's bright headlights, was a single ominous streetlamp, flickering on and off with an eerie rhythm.

"Bree?" Tony called. He looked around, scouring for her in the darkness.

Suddenly, his door was thrown open, and there she was. She stood over him, the broken streetlamp casting a menacing glow across her seductive grin.

"Ready, tiger?" She asked, fingering the buttons of his shirt. He was flustered.

"Isn't this a pretty sketchy place to… _fondue_?"

In a matter of seconds, Bree's delicate fingers shot to her pockets. She was no longer wearing the sequined mini dress; now, she had on black cargos. Which looked full of mysterious items. She held up one of such objects, a small aluminum canister which could fit in the palm of her hand. Tony couldn't make it out in the dim light.

"You know what _this_ is, don't you?" She shook the can, then pulled some sort of black cloth up over her mouth and nose. Tony flinched. Gas.

But, it was too late. She was already spraying a cloud of the stuff around his head. The smoke expanded, floating in an airy haze to fill the car. His eyelids grew heavy, and his head began to throb. Was that the gas? Whatever it was, he couldn't see much of anything through the haze.

Except Bree's sinister blue eyes. Her big, beautiful blue eyes.

And, a cocked gun that most _certainly_ wasn't of Hammer Industries manufacture.

Then, even that began to fade away.

The last thing he could feel was Bree's lips pressed up against his ear.

"Nightie-night, Mr. Stark."


	3. What Doesn't Kill You

So, on account of my brain running rampant with ideas, I've decided to add a chapter three. Already.

Oh, and I stole the chapter title from** Kelly Clarkson**'s hit of the same name. Read on!

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CHAPTER III

**WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU**

Tony awoke to suddenly-bright lights and an unearthly headache. _The paparazzi!_ He burrowed under the covers. _Didn't they have enough pictures of him with his pants off?_ But the Outside remained oddly still. No wild reporters yelling obnoxiously intimidating questions. No flashes. The light was oddly constant. Cautiously, he lifted the covers just enough to see where the light was coming from. Then, he realized it was only sunlight streaming in through an open window. Tony groaned. Groggily, he rolled over and groped around for the sunglasses he kept on the nightstand. He sat up, instantly overcome with nausea and soreness.

"Good morning, sir," Jarvis greeted, breaking the stillness. Tony jumped. "Or, should I say, good _afternoon_. The date is Monday, November 4, and it is 3:23pm. You've been very popular today; you have seventeen new messages. Would you care to hear them?"

"No, later," Tony said quickly, catching his breath. That was a lie; he had no intention of actually _ever_ listening to the slew of messages. Why the heck did he have so many? Probably reporters eager for a comment on pictures they'd caught of him drunk. As if there weren't enough of those. What _on Earth_ had happened last night? He groaned, getting precariously to his feet. A wave of pain suddenly seized his chest and almost sent him to the floor. He felt his chest. It was pulsating significantly faster than usual—all of that alcohol last night must be giving the arc a scare.

His head throbbed harder and the room began sliding sideways. If he'd allowed himself, he could've let himself collapse right there, on the floor. If fact, it was taking all of his energy _not_ to. He felt abnormally drained. He'd overdone it; whatever he'd done, he had overdone it. The little device keeping him alive was not amused.

Okay. Tony took a deep breath. He'd just try to make it to the bathroom. Slowly.

And, he did, shakily and laboriously.

"Let's survey the damage," Tony murmured to himself, rounding the corner and flipping on the light. This was never his favorite part; usually, he'd have foreign little cuts or marks. And, then there was the occasional tattoo he didn't remember getting. But, as he stood there blanched and bare-chested before the mirror, it was much worse than any of those things. He couldn't believe what he saw. It was enough to make him hold his breath. His head throbbed with more fervor. He reached under his sunglasses to rub his eyes. Then did a double take.

_The arc was gone._

A spider web of veins shot out from the empty socket in a crisscross of blue and black. He'd been in a similar situation, back when the arc had run on a palladium core. The thing had been slowly killing him, contaminating his bloodstream until he'd found a suitable replacement for the palladium—a new element he'd discovered himself. Meanwhile, his veins had been sent into a gross spider web, much like this; except this time, it was _worse_. The intricate pattern, raised and unsightly, threatened to consume his entire chest and climb up his neck.

Horrified, his gaze moved down his arms.

There were three distinct, amorphous bruises: two small, gray ones on his right forearm; and the third, large and purple under his left shoulder. _That's_ why he'd been so sore. Cautiously, he moved to study the rest of his body for any other injuries. And found none, besides a few scrapes across his knees. He felt much worse…like he'd gotten run over by a truck. Exhausted. Nauseous. He wasn't sure if it was the shock of the missing arc making him feel sick, or the hangover, or if he genuinely felt like a pulverized possum.

Not your average hangover. He'd had more than he could count, and this was, well…_not_ what usually happened. The nausea was there, the headache, the grogginess. But, _never_ bruises, even when he got into the occasion bar fight. He could rule that one out. Okay. He took in a deep breath. So, that meant something _abnormal_ had happened last night. _But, what?_ He focused hard to remember something from the previous night—where he'd gone, what he'd done, how much he'd drunk, anything. But, to his astonishment, he couldn't recall the slightest detail.

As if on cue, Tony's stomach churned violently, suddenly sending him to the floor. He tried to locate the toilet, but realized that everything was beginning to blur together; he couldn't differentiate between where the floor ended and where the toilet and the sink and the shower began. He felt himself throw up.

Whatever was happening, he _had_ to get Pepper.

His head throbbed. He tried to call Pepper, or Jarvis, or _anyone_. But no sound came. He tried again, but the hoarse sound that came out only turned to a cough. And he threw up again.

Just a few more minutes. Pepper was bound to come and get him, to wake him up for lunch or something. _Right?_

But, she never did. The bathroom spun, grew darker.

He was dying. Again.

What would his loyal fans think about his noble death? Well, passing out in a bathroom, dying of—overdose?—wasn't very noble. But he was bound to make all of the papers: "Armor of Iron, Heart of Gold: Iron Man's Last Battle." Yeah, that sounded catchy. Probably the front page. And this time, probably fully clothed.

Then, he thought of Pepper. Of how sorry he was that she'd have to be CEO again. Of Happy, that new kid whom he hadn't had a lot of time to really get to know. Of Rhodey, and his rather feminine (although, apparently, _very _state-of-the-art) new flip phone. Of Natalie, the super attractive, kick-ass S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who could speak Latin. Of the Avengers. Of their creepy boy-band ringleader, the Cyclopes who did nothing but walk around in black and look intimidating (Most of the time, he succeeded in weirding Tony out). Of the _très _sexy babe-angels that were sure to live in heaven (Were there angel clubs there? Seraphim pubs?).

Then, he thought of his father. The father who had been the face of Stark Industries since its inception. The noble father who had organized the Stark Expo to better the world through technology. The heartless father that had always been so stoic and unloving. The father that had been too involved in "work" to so much as throw a baseball or eat a family dinner. The father that had crudely shipped him off to school. The father that had wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. The father that led him to the discovery of a new element…an element that was now gone. Stolen. The father that he had let down.

And, he slowly let the world around him drift away, following it through a tunnel of darkness.


	4. Doctor, Who?

Sorry, not much of a musical inspiration for this one. But, I did intend for this to be a particularly humorous chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

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CHAPTER IV

**DOCTOR, WHO?**

Tony awoke, once more, to blinding light and a horrid headache. Were there hangovers in heaven, or was this was just déjà vu? Maybe hangovers were like bad credit—they carried over, no matter _where_ you went (and, he had enough experience with that one). He tried opening his eyes. Sore and tired, they slowly adjusted to the light to reveal a blur of white and orange. Well, look at that, heaven had color.

The palette sharpened to form a human being dressed in white. Or an angel. A ginger angel. This particular angel wasn't as sexy as he had envisioned. She was disappointingly modest, actually. She looked too much like Pepper.

"Tony? _Tony?_" she called. Her voice was quivering. He could now see the tears rolling down her usually-composed face.

Tony sighed. He wasn't sure if he was relieved that he hadn't died, or disappointed because he hadn't gotten to cozy up to attractive heavenly women.

"Miss Potts," he decided to say, surprised by the hoarseness of his own voice, "are you crying? Because, I didn't think fire-breathing dragons could emote."

"You're alive!" Pepper was too overwhelmed with euphoria to do anything but trap him in a hug. The last time he had seen Pepper, she'd been abnormally angry—no, _furious_. An emotion Tony wasn't even sure she was capable of. Now, she'd turned into a Cuddle-Me Teddy Bear.

Still, his muscles were sore and he winced under her aggressive embrace. "Try not to 'Hulk Smash' me, will you?"

"Oh, sorry," Pepper instantly withdrew into her chair. She took a deep breath and tried rubbing her reddened face with her white coat sleeve. It was already stained all over the place with makeup. She blew her nose on it. "Don't _ever_ do that to me again. Didn't I say to _never_ scare me again? This is the probably the second time you've almost died!"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, it's a habit," Tony said sarcastically. "I'll try not to do it again."

Pepper slapped his foot. "Stop that!" She was not amused.

"_So_, you still…well, I wouldn't say _mad_—"

She cut him off with a curt "yes."

"Ooo-_kay_. So, uh, what happened after…"

"You mean, after I found you passed out in a puddle of vomit and nearly had a heart attack? After _that?_"

Tony cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, after that."

Pepper's gaze fell. "Well, I thought…I thought you were _dead_ and, and…" She paused, wiping away some tears and sitting up straighter, as if crying had been an irrational reaction. Then she added quickly, "_The company_ was in a panic. I mean, who was going to be CEO if you were gone?"

"How 'bout you?"

"Stop, that's not funny, Tony. You know how that went. Too much…stress, I think. And, that probably wouldn't look too good. I mean, me resigning as CEO, then coming back—"

A grin crept across Tony's lips. "You know what I mean. Screw the company, I mean _you_."

"Well, I cried. And yelled at the pizza guy," she said, then added in a rush, "Because, you know, I was upset that the, um, _company _was going under. And, I hate job hunting."

He couldn't help laughing at that one. "The pizza guy? You don't eat pizza."

"Yes I _do_," she fired back, a little too defensively. Her red, tearstained cheeks were still inflamed from constant crying. Her eyes were still puffy and red, too, despite her attempts to wipe them clean. "That just goes to show how much you know about _me_. There's lots you don't know about me. You're too busy looking at yourself in the mirror to realize there's another person there."

"Hey, I know _lots _about you."

"Oh, yeah? What's my favorite color?"

"Orange," Tony said resolutely. It was the first color that'd popped into his head.

Pepper rolled her eyes. "It's _blue_."

"Well," Tony hesitated, "are you sure? 'Cause, I thought since your hair's orange—"

Her eyes filled with tears again and she let out a strained laugh. "I can't _believe _you. You are the _definition_ of narcissism!"

Tony shuttered. "There's that _word."_

Pepper was about to open her mouth to return the jab, when the whitewashed door creaked open. Tony let out a dramatic sigh of relief. He was out of the dungeon. Or, at least, for a while. As if on cue, a disheveled young man slipped through the door sporting a white coat with rolled sleeves. His face was rather babyish, save for unkempt stubble across the lower half of his face. He looked fresh out of college, probably no more than twenty-one. He pulled a chair up to the bedside next to Pepper's and extended a scrawny hand towards Tony.

"Hello, Mr. Stark. I'm Doctor Stevens. It's a _real_ pleasure to meet you. I'm a big fan. I've got a lot of Iron Man posters and action figures…"

Tony raised an eyebrow, glancing at the doctor's outstretched hand like it was a dirty sock. "Are you sure you're old enough to be a doctor?" This was the usual drill at fundraisers and state fairs—with _children_, at that. _Not_ educated professionals. What, was he going to ask for an autograph too? He added, "And, what's with the handshake? It's like Bring-Your-Eccentric Man-Child-to-Work Day." Was he hoping Tony's DNA would rub off on him, and he'd be able to sell a swab on Ebay? Well, being a doctor, he certainly had access to blood… Although, Tony was still rather flattered. But, severely creeped out.

"I was wondering, do you think you could maybe sign some of my trading cards?"

Tony fake coughed. He had spoken too soon. The guy _did_ want an autograph. "I'm not sure what's weirder: your chinchilla face, or the fact that you own Iron Man trading cards."

Stevens withdrew his hand with reddened cheeks. Jeez, he looked like the Gerber baby. "Oh, sorry, was that inappropriate?"

Tony cleared his throat. "_Very_ inappropriate. And, _really_ creepy. Don't do that again." He cleared his throat again, mostly to let the awkward moment pass. "So, you're a doctor…Says your name tag. Do you have any doctor-ish things you can tell me? Because, maybe you can help me forget how weirded out I am right now and tell me why I passed out randomly in my bathroom? 'Cuz I have I feeling it wasn't just booze."

"Oh, right," Stevens said, suddenly flustered. "Well, we took several blood samples and found, yes, a high alcohol content. But, then, we also found traces of warfarin, which is an anticoagulant found in—"

"Poison," Tony interrupted distantly. He felt his heartbeat quicken. He'd been poisoned.

"Yes, _rat_ poison," Stevens continued. "So, that would definitely account for part of the fainting and the heart retardation. But, there was also the issue of the arc. The miniaturized arc reactor keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart was, uh—"

"_Gone_," Tony said uneasily. He felt his heartbeat quicken. He'd completely forgotten. But, wait- Poison. Alcohol. Arc. It was all coming back to him. It was all beginning to make sense. It could only have been one person. And, it was going to take every resource he had to track them down.

"Right, so—"

"I looked _everywhere_," Pepper interrupted, rather irritated. "But, I couldn't find it, so I got one of your old ones, the one that runs on the little packs. I don't k—"

"Palladium," Tony corrected. He looked down at the exhausted makeshift device in his chest. Then, he added urgently, "Pepper, the arc—"

Pepper continued, further annoyed by his interjection. "I don't know _what_ you did with it, Tony, but I was worried because I know how _that_ one"—she glanced at the old model in Tony's chest—"almost killed you last time—but, great prank, Tony. Great. _This _is why I…So, now you can tell me—"

He was just going to say it. "It's _gone,_" he blurted. "That's the thing—"

"I got that part, thank you," Pepper snapped. However, there was a hint of caution in her words. Tony could tell she sensed it, what had _really_ happened to the arc. "That's why I was hoping you could tell me…"

"Pepper, someone stole the arc," Tony replied frankly.

"Like _stole_ stole?"

Stevens was watching the entire exchange with wide eyes, like a child waiting for a handful of candy to be dropped in his trick-or-treat bag. "Ooh, this is exiting!" he exclaimed finally. It had been rather obnoxious, really.

Tony paused to give him a rather concerned sideways glance.

"It's gone. We've gotta get it back," he said firmly. He tried standing, then realized, almost annoyed, that there were too many restraints keeping him from doing so. Quickly, he removed a clip from his finger. "In the wrong hands, there's no telling _what _stupid things might happen…"

Pepper replied, "Like, Obadiah? Or that creepy Russian? Or Justin Hammer? Because, if I remember correctly, all of them came _slightly_ close to taking over the world."

"Like I said, _stupid_. Probably harmless," Tony admitted, pulling a tube out of his arm, "'Cause , let's face it, Hammer's not the shiniest piece of gold in the treasure chest…But, still not worth the chance."

"What are you doing?" Stevens interrupted, momentarily snapping out of his incredulous trance. He watched, wide-eyed, as Tony plucked a needle out of his arm and yelped. "Mr. Stark, I have to recommend—uh, you can't just—you're not fully—"

"Just give up," Pepper said icily. "His head is like one big narcissistic bomb. If he actually _listens_ to another human being, it explodes."

Tony's head snapped up. He met Pepper's glare with narrowed eyed. "Hey, _again_ with the n-word!" he cried. Defiantly, he returned to his work, plucking a final tube from his nose and spluttering as he took in a breath. "Why do you still use these things? No one wants to sit here in bed with some mysterious tube sticking out of their nose. _Honestly_. I feel like a scuba diver." He threw back the sheets and clumsily stood up on shaky legs. A wave of nausea swept over him. He held onto the bed for a moment of support. Hangover? Forget it. This was ten times more miserable.

"Good _God_," Pepper muttered, watching the spectacle. She quietly drew her left hand to her face, halfway covering her face in embarrassment. Then she added aloud, "Tony, do you always have to start something?"

"Of course. It's my job. You, of all people, would know."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I would," Pepper spat.

"Mr. Stark," Stevens said firmly. He took a cautious step towards Tony. "Take it easy, sit back down on —"

"Tony," Pepper called swiftly, interrupting Stevens' warning. "where do you think you're going?"

Tony snatched his cell phone from the bedside table and moved toward the door. He had to do what he had to do, and there was no one who could get in his way. "To get my arc back. There's no time to discuss this." He gripped the door handle with a shaky hand.

Stevens interjected, "Mr. Stark, you _know_ I'm your biggest fan, but I can't just let you go—"

"I'll sign those trading cards."

"Okay!" Stevens chirped happily.

Pepper shot him a glare. "_Really?_"

"Fine," Stevens let out a disappointed sigh. "Mr. Stark—"

He turned back to address Tony, but found the door half ajar. And no Tony.

Pepper was already there, rushing out and down the whitewashed hallways. Then, reluctantly, she retraced her steps and hung in the doorframe for a moment, studying Stevens. He was calmly standing by the bedside, occupying the same space as several minutes ago. His features were frozen, as if pondering over something. "Well," she said icily, "what are you waiting for? Aren't you going to help me catch the fugitive?"

"I wonder if he knows," Stevens muttered to himself. A childish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"About all of the reporters waiting outside?"

"No. That he's not wearing pants."


	5. Public Secrets

Once again, thanks y'all, for being faithful readers! Here's the soundtrack:

**Over My Head** **by The Fray **and **Bright Lights by Matchbox Twenty.**

Not perfect fits, but I got some inspiration from both!

* * *

CHAPTER V

**PUBLIC SECRETS**

There were tons more people out there than he'd expected. Like, _tons_. You'd think Justin Beiber was having a block party. Apparently, the near-death of a superhero-slash-millionaire was of public interest. Among the scores of concerned citizens, there were at least five news stations present, and seven or so newspapers. Tony would know—reporters from most of them converged like a pack of hungry wolves upon his emergence from the hospital. Some called out legitimate questions like, "Mr. Stark, what happened last night?" or "Mr. Stark, do you think this was a warning to Iron Man?"; but, most of them inquired about his new "dress" and the fact that he wasn't wearing pants. He didn't answer any of them. In response, all he could mutter were a few profanities (Which, he was fairly sure, had been caught on camera). Of all things, he hadn't thought to check for _clothing_ before stepping out into the eager crowd.

After a few moments, Tony, still in somewhat of a daze, managed, "What can I say? Vogue asked me to model their new men's line." The crowd tittered giddily at that one. If all of the cameras weren't already focused on him, they were now. That little comment was sure to land him a spot on Good Morning America. He strained to see above the formicating mob, standing on tiptoes (he now came to notice that he wasn't wearing shoes). The din was beginning to intensify his headache. Then, he added quickly, "Does anyone have a car I can borrow?"

So, after a collective, unsettling burst of laughter from the crowd, Happy identified himself in the pack. Oh, it paid to have a staff. While there were about a dozen other people Tony would rather drive with, Happy was his only promise of escape from the media—because, unfortunately, with so many witnesses, stealing a car was completely out of the question. So, in Happy's Prius they made their getaway.

**Tony soon found** himself at Stark Tower, where he retreated to his basement hideaway.

But, something was wrong.

Despite the keypad outside preventing unauthorized access, his workshop was in disarray. Papers left in organized stacks were strewn across his desk. Drawers had been left open, their contents messed about and rummaged through. And the homemade trophy Pepper had gifted to him some time ago was shattered on the floor. Tony could eliminate FBI and the police right away—government officials would hardly leave a room this disheveled after inspection. The place had obviously seen an unwanted visitor.

Tony flinched. He'd almost forgotten about-

Tony rushed in and made a dash for the compartment at the far end of the room. It was a hidden piece of wall that pulled out in a sort of unsuspecting drawer. Here was where he secured a collection of outdated arcs, save the one he wore in his chest. It was a secret little corner. His heartbeat quickened. If the newest model had been stolen from his very chest, what had stopped the thief from swiping the others? Uneasily, Tony tried the drawer.

It was unlocked.

And, as he gazed inside to find it empty, his worst fears were confirmed. The drawer could only be opened by a key; and, beside himself, Pepper was the only one who had a key. Heck, Pepper was the only one who knew this secret compartment _existed_. Then, Tony wondered, how had the intruder managed to get inside it? With a start, he fumbled for his pockets. But, the hospital gown he still wore hadn't any pockets. He held his phone in his hand. The only thing that'd been on the bedside table in the hospital was his Blackberry. He was sure of it. Somehow, he gathered, the criminal had made off with his keys. Last night.

He stopped for a moment, recollecting night's chain of events, a sequence to which the hangover had previously made him oblivious; bit by bit, it was all beginning to come back to him. Dimly, he recalled having some sort of disagreement with Pepper. To that he had already referred, back at the hospital. Then, after that, he had somehow ended up with a girl (there was nothing new). The two of them had drank and chatted. He vaguely remembered several vodkas, but nothing more. He seized his head in his hands. _Think, _he demanded of himself, silently and vehemently. _Think, Tony, think!_ There had to be more.

Tony looked down at the blue device pulsating in his chest. His precious arcs were gone. But, not this one. How had the culprit missed it? Why were all of the others missing, and _not_ this palladium-core model? Tony gave a start. _Unless_ the trickster had broken in _after_ Pepper had delivered the Palladium to the hospital. But, when had that been? A couple days ago? An hour ago?

For all he knew, the criminal was still lurking around Stark Tower.

He plopped into his rolling plush chair, gliding it to its rightful place in front of an electronic control panel of sorts. The station was a mass of computer screens and keypads.

"Jarvis," he prompted, his voice laced with urgent imperiousness. "Get me the video surveillance tapes from last night." Luckily, Tony had the entire tower wired with security cameras. Watching the feed would surely answer some of his questions. He'd be able to get a glimpse not only of the criminal's façade, but of his or her spoils, where he or she had entered and exited, and his or her method of entry.

"I regret to say, sir," Jarvis's robotic voice responded hesitantly, "that I have no such data. The video data of yesterday stops at eleven o' clock in the AM, sir."

"How about this morning? Any _data_?" Tony spat the last word more in petulance than in spite.

"Once again, I am sorry to respond in the negative, sir."

Tony's features hardened. "You mean to tell me that you have _no _video record of Stark Tower after eleven yesterday? None at all?"

"That is correct, sir."

Tony bit his lip. That was definitely _not _okay. His visitor had undoubtedly been skilled. He or she had been able to unplug Stark Tower's entire video network; disarm some of the world's most powerful security equipment (which, by the way, was of Tony's own design), including an alarm and several keypad locks, in less than twenty-four hours; coax Tony, himself into a drunken stupor; sneak past Pepper and the staff undetected; steal a hidden stash of miniaturized arc reactors under lock and key; and sneak out with his spoils, all while remaining anonymous. This was quite a trickster. Or, could it be that this was an entire _team_ of delinquents? A squad of escaped jailbirds? A pack of Nazis? There was no viable information about the culprits, whatsoever. As far as he saw it, this was one of those impossible cases for the illustrious mind of Sherlock Holmes. But, it was unlikely that the fictional mastermind and his doctoral companion would make an entrance anytime soon.

Tony _did, _however, try to take a page from the infamous detective's methods. With Jarvis's help, he inspected the floors for footprints, fibers, and any other evidence. He was in the midst of the fruitless investigation when a vibration from his Blackberry startled him. The screen bore a smiling photo of Pepper. She was clad in a crooked beret and fake mustache and balancing on one leg in front of a small fountain. Tony had taken the picture

"This is just ironic," he muttered aloud. Mentally, he contrasted this picture with the furious Pepper he'd seen earlier. For some reason, it kind of made him angry. She was just calling to yell at him. Something about how he should "stop being so stupid" and "think about other people" besides himself. The usual nagging crap. He held up the phone, poising to chuck the device. "What d'ya think, Jarvis, out the window or down a beaker of toxic chemicals?"

"Maybe you should answer Miss Potts' call, sir."

Tony shook his head. Asking Jarvis had been a stupid move. Still, in annoyed reluctance, he brought the Blackberry to his ear.

"What?" he said harshly.

But, there was no immediate reply; only rustling on the other line, and a muffled cry.

"Pepper?"

After several long seconds of more fumbling and rustling, Pepper answered with a frantic, unintelligible gasp. "_Tony, he's—You have to—" _

"_Pepper?_" There was another scuffle, followed by a feminine shriek. "Pepper!" Tony called.

But, the voice that answered was too deep a tenor to be Pepper's. "We have her, Tony. Your girlfriend _and_ the Doctor. If you do what we say, we might not hurt them…too much."

Tony's hands formed into fists at his sides. His heart raced and he felt his head throbbing again. "You're not going to do _anything_!" he said furiously. Whoever it was, he'd find them. Wherever they were. And give them a piece of his mind. "Jarvis, prepare the Generation 4 Titanium Suit."

"I'm afraid that cannot be located sir."

Vehemently, with phone still in hand, Tony spun to face the back wall. The entire wall was a high-tech display case for his collection of Iron Man suits. Even behind a clear glass wall, there were three layers of security, preventing break-in.

But, apparently all three layers had been penetrated, because not a single suit remained behind the glass.

Tony felt himself freeze, eyes wide and breath shallow. He'd inspected the entire basement level for theft, but had somehow managed to neglect the suits. _He'd forgotten about the stupid suits!_

Somehow, the creep on the other end picked up on his astonishment and let out a burst of uproarious laughter. Deep, vile laughter, like a sinister Santa Claus. "What're you going to do to stop me, hotshot? Oh, that's right, _nothing!_ No suit!You're _nothing_ without that suit! _Nothing. _Behind the suit, you're nothing but a guy with a jacked-up heart and a fancy tower!"

Tony swallowed.

"Don't bother trying to save her, Stark." More ominous baritone chuckling.

And, then silence.

The other line went dead before Tony could reply.

But, would he have said anything in response? What should he have said? What _could_ he have said? Creepy Santa was right, Tony thought. He had nothing left. No suit, no arc, no Pepper, no pride, no _purpose_. Everything that had once given his life purpose was gone.

All in a single day. One stupid day.

He had nothing. He _was_ nothing. Nothing but a wretched, reckless, unhappy multimillionaire. He had all of the money a man could dream of, but, in a moment, would trade it for everything he'd lost today. Because he'd been—he hated the word—a real jerk. But, no matter what he called himself, no matter how much he repented, he couldn't get it back. Any of it. It was all gone. Especially Pepper.

It'd been an argument, a silly little argument that'd begun all of this. He'd walked out on her just because he hadn't wanted to listen to her reprimand. It was that simple. He didn't want to listen to her yell or call him out. If he'd at least tolerated it, at least stuck around, she'd still be here. She'd be here, at home, safe. And, the last thing he'd said to Pepper—heck, he couldn't remember the last thing he'd said to her; but, he knew it'd been something dumb and selfish and stupid. He'd never be able to forgive himself. It was all his fault. _He'd_ brought this upon Pepper.

Suddenly, Tony was startled with the violent, presumptuous clamp of thick boots above. They were, surely and almost zealously, descending the stairs towards him. Whoever-it-was wanted his presence to be known.

Ironically, Tony didn't even flinch. Well, they'd come for his things, taken everything he could possibly care about.

Now, they were coming for him.

And, as he sat there, defeated, he wasn't going to do anything about it.


	6. Some Assembly Required

Soundtrack: _Dreaming with a Broken Heart, John Mayer_ (first portion of the chapter); and _Thunderstruck by AC/DC_ is the universal anthem for the second portion. Why does this section need an anthem, you ask? Well, guess you'll have to read on!

* * *

CHAPTER VI

**SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED**

The culprit was hardly who Tony had expected.

Well, Tony wasn't really sure _who_ he'd expected.

Well, either way, it wasn't The Culprit at all.

Although, the guy _was_ dressed in all black.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite emo pirate."

Sweeping through the open glass door, clad in tall boots and flowing cape, was none other than Nick Fury. Though it'd been nearly a year since Tony had last seen him, the Avengers' ringleader hadn't changed: same prevalent eye patch, same pocketed revolver, and same sly grin. The guy always looked like he was up to no good; but, it was impossible to tell whether he was hatching a diabolical plan or planning a horseback adventure to Alaska.

"Hey," Fury said defensively, grin remaining fixated. "Just because I have an eye patch doesn't mean I'm a pirate."

"Actually, I think it _does_, Blackbeard. Hey, look at that, you've even got the _black beard _to match. You're kind of late though; I think the auditions for Pirates of the Caribbean 5 were last month."

Self-consciously, Fury fingered the dark, scruffy hair around his chin. "It's a goatee," he objected. He looked somewhat offended, but also oddly amused.

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you prefer _Cyclops_?"

A pause.

Fury studied his surroundings, took in the casualties. "Tony, enough of the antics. I heard you're in a bit of a pickle," he said. He crossed his arms across his chest expectantly. Not threatening, not serious. He did it in that relaxed way parents do, when they know you've done something wrong. When they _know_ what you've done, they're just waiting for you to confess to it.

Tony sighed, looked around the room. At the scattered papers, at Pepper's arc statue-thing shattered on the floor. Anything besides Fury's visage. It made him feel like a child. "Yeah, well, welcome to the party," he muttered. It was a deflated reply. He'd lost his steam. He'd been defeated. He looked around aimlessly some more, as if some divine intervention might wake him from this nightmare. _Oh, if only this was just another nightmare_. Another hangover, even. His gaze fell on the shattered statue again. It was in so many pieces. They were all over.

Fury followed Tony's gaze. "I'm sorry Tony," he said. "You know, she really loves you. Pepper."

Tony was silent for a moment, distant, someplace else. Just like that statue, he felt shattered. There were so many small fragments, hopelessly split and beyond repair. It was something, he was sure, not even super glue or Duct tape could fix. And, even if he could haphazardly piece it back together with his engineer's fingers, it wouldn't look the same. It'd never look brand new, like when Pepper had made it. When it'd landed on his desk in careful brown wrapping and Pepper's loopy handwriting.

He sighed, audibly this time. It was amazing how much it hurt, just to hear her name. Crap, he felt like one of those cheesy teenage heartthrobs in a subpar made-for-TV movie. He wasn't a sentimental kind of guy. It was embarrassing. Next thing he knew, he'd be frolicking around in tights, singing reminiscent love songs from the top of a bridge.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Tony decided to respond.

"I think I can help…but, some assembly is required."

"No, no, no, no, _noooo_," Tony blurted. The words flowed out of his mouth faster than he could think them. He knew where Blackbeard was going with this. "Assembly? Avengers? I _think_ I can handle—"

"You? No suit, remember?" Fury's eyebrows raised rather coyly, like he was about to give the punch line of a joke. But, it was still inside his head and no one else could share in the amusement. Cheeks flushed, Tony quickly averted his gaze. He'd forgotten about the suit thing. "_We _can handle it. All of us."

"Whoa, whoa. No, _not_ 'we.' _You_. _You _freaks. I'm outta the Boy Band."

"Tony, your girlfriend's gone, your arc's gone, your suit's gone. You've got nothing left! I think you've run out of options."

That was true, _but_…

Tony shook his head, raised an eyebrow. "Wait, I thought Tony Stark was denied from the Avengers Initiative on account of—I quote, —'acute narcissism.'"

Fury's reply was curt. "That's true, Tony Stark is _not_ approved for the Avengers Initiative."

"What, so are you and the Freak Squad going to go after Her, while I sit here in a comfy chair and drink dirty martinis?" That wouldn't be a bad plan.

Fury chuckled, coolly tucked his hands in his pockets. "No, you're definitely going to be part of this. Why should everyone else do the work for you?"

Tony sighed. "Now, you sound like Her." He couldn't bear to hear her name, much less _say_ it; so, for now, 'Her' sounded like a suitable replacement. It was too painful. It was like he was losing his heart again; and this time, no miniaturized arc reactor could save it.

"So, what'll it be?"

"_No, _absolutely—just, no!" This was making no sense.

Fury didn't say anything. He just stood there expectantly, focused his gaze on Tony.

This only confused Tony more. "Well, I don't know what you want me to say! Iron Man is obviously on vacation here, so…"

"So? Just say, 'okay.'"

"No."

Silence. More creepy staring. He _really_ didn't like looking into Blackbeard's eyes—er, _eye_. It made everything so much weirder that there was only one eye.

"Fine. Oooo-kaaaaaaay," Tony said reluctantly, hesitantly. He drew out his 'okay' defiantly, so it hardly sounded like 'okay' at all. Then, he added quickly, "But, I don't see how you can just—"

"That settles it then." That was enough for Nick Fury. It was like that's what he'd been waiting for. Suddenly, dismissively, he turned on his heels and backtracked to the glass door. His cape floated behind him like a little bird, flitting vivaciously when Fury turned the corner out of sight. Tony was instantly left alone again, sheepish, stunned, and confused.

Was that it? That couldn't be it.

Tony stood there for a few moments. Looked around.

Then, he gave in. He did _exactly_ what Fury had probably expected him to do. He trailed the guy up the stairs…

"Settle? Hey, General Cyclops, what does it settle?"

* * *

_"Hey, so, you_ gonna tell me now? Or are you gonna make me watch Cookie Monster over here clean out the pantry?" Thor, who was peeling open a pack of Poptarts across the table, scowled. He fumbled for his hammer under the table. _That huge hammer. The aliens. The wormhole._ Tony couldn't help his heartbeat from quickening. He still couldn't get over this guy. Thor was, somehow, freakishly intimidating. How was Tony supposed to take it all? It just wasn't…_normal_. Heck, he lived in the _sky_!

But, before Thor could go all hammer-crazy on Tony's face, Fury was intervening: "That's the thing, Tony. Maybe you can tell _us_. If we're going to help you, we're going to need to know what happened."

"Uh, actually, Blackbeard, I never said I was letting you _help_ me, per say. I just need some groupies to make me look goo—"

"What're you gonna do, hotshot?" Natasha quipped. She pierced her eggs suddenly, violently with the table knife in her hand. "Fly off to the rescue, save your girl, and live happily ever after?" In another swift motion, she punctured the little yellow yolk.

Tony forced a grin. "Well, you never know, sweetheart." In a split second, Natasha's hand flashed across his vision. Something sticky ran down the side of his face. It took him a silent moment to feel the sting in his cheek. "Ow," he said finally, touching his face and pulling his hand away bloody. "What'd you do that for?"

Natasha's eyes were suddenly flaming. "_Never_ call me sweetheart again."

"I'd punch you right back, sweetheart, but Iron Man doesn't fight girls. Especially not employees. You still work upstairs, Miss Romanov? You know that PA position's opened back up."

"_Your_ PA? You're kidding. I'd rather kick a puppy." And, she looked like she meant it.

But, Banner was quick and said, "There's Tony for you. Always harassing women with his sardonic threats. Iron Man at his best."

"You're just jealous, Monster Boy. The whole King-Kong-on-steroids trick doesn't pick up too many girls, does it?"

"You know what, Stark—"

"Wait," Thor spoke up for the first time, lips spewing Poptart crumbs. "What is this _King Kong_?"

Barton, ever the archery and wildlife expert, answered matter-of-factly, "A giant monkey."

"I do not understand. What is _monkey_?"

"Never mind."

"Is that anything akin to a _bilgesnipe?_"

Barton raised an eyebrow. "Bilgesnipe." He said the strange word as more of a statement than a question.

"Oh, I forgot," Thor replied with a grin. "You do not have these beasts on your planet."

"Okay, okay," Fury broke in again, authoritatively, like a teacher breaking up a middle school fight. "We're the Avengers, not the _Re_vengers. Let's focus here. If we're going to help Tony, we've got to work together."

Natasha stabbed her eggs again. "Let's get one thing straight: I'm only in it for Pepper."

Banner wiped his mouth, then tossed the used napkin onto his clean plate. "Same. Why can't Mr. Ego save himself?"

Steve set down his fork. "Guys, I'm not too fond of Stark, either," he said resolutely, "but, if there's anything I've learned from being in the army, it's to help a soldier in need. You don't just leave a guy behind to get shot because he's annoying as hell. You risk _your _life to save _his_ because it's the right thing to do. And, this is war."


End file.
